A Little Confession
by chervilspotatoes
Summary: Sherlock is apprehensive about his Valentine's Day plans, but John doesn't think there's anything wrong with Sherlock's present.


He's just as beautiful as the day I first met him. It doesn't matter that it's been five years since we met; John ages like a gentleman. The beauty of blond men I suppose. They never really tip over into looking old, they only look stately. My own dark hair will only turn gray at the roots and instantly make me look like an old man who possibly dyes his hair, even though it would look more ridiculous and make me very sad if I shorned off my curls as I aged.

I his eyes have stayed swirling, and I have drowned in them often. Their blue depths call to me and I am helpless to withhold myself, especially as he still chuckles and taps my cheeks until I "snap out of it". "Stay here, Sherlock," he says, as though I'd want to be anywhere else. He rubs his thumbs across my cheekbones as I close my eyes. He loves me, John does, so much more than I thought anyone ever could. He's given me everything and made me so happy there must be something I could do for him. Valentine's Day is a day of love, and I want to make him feel loved, convey to him just how I feel about him, but I don't know how.

This is our first Valentine's Day together, and I have resolved that the best thing I can do when John comes home is tell him as best I can how I feel. John knows I love him, but I don't think he knows the significance and depths of my feelings, though if he does it would be appropriate to remind him. I couldn't think of anything to give him, so my heart will have to suffice.

I hear John coming up the stairs and I smile as he opens the door. Oh. He…he's gauging my reaction his entrance and my mouth is dropped open. I'm looking at all he got for me, amazed. He has a bunch of red and white balloons around his wrist and a box of chocolates in his hand. His other hand holds a bag that he sets on the table beside the chocolates. Out of the bag he pulls takeaway boxes and a bouquet of blood red roses. Still frozen in the chair, I watch as he pulls one from the bouquet, carefully shucks its thorns with his fingers, and trims its stem. He approaches me and cups my face in his hands, gently tucking the rose behind my ear.

"You look gorgeous," he tells my lips. I close my eyes and softly caress his lips with mine like it's the first time. It's the first time I've ever been wooed and received presents and John loves me and still has balloons around his wrist. I pull him closer and he breaks away a bit, laughing as he arranges himself on my thighs. His fingertips trail my neck and move up my jaw and I close my eyes at the feel of his adoring touch. It's almost too much, sometimes, how I feel for him. And he loves me back just as much. He lays a petal soft kiss on each eyelid and I smile. He pecks my mouth. "Food's getting cold."

I follow him to the table as he unties the balloons from his wrist and reties them to my chair. I sit and eat fried rice and watch John. He's glowing. Then I remember I have nothing to give him and my gaze falters. John seems to have the same idea I do, to eat as quickly as possible, though he seems to be under the impression the best of the night is yet to come while I am nervous he won't be satisfied after he bought all this for me. I sling the leftovers in the fridge and turn to see John beaming at me. He places his hands on my chest and then flicks his eyes up to my face. He looks worried now.

"What is it Sherlock?" he queries. I open my mouth but I have no words. He raises his left hand to my cheekbone and rubs. I feel sliminess and realize it's my own tear John is wiping away. My breath hitches and with glassy eyes I turn to John. "I have nothing to give you," I confess. "I thought…" I raise my eyes to John's and his are soft and understanding.

"It's okay sunshine, there's nothing more I could want, as long as you're here," he says to me.

I'm supposed to be telling him, he's not supposed to be telling me. My words return and stumble out, "I thought my gift to you could be a little speech. Come now." I lead him to the bedroom and sit next to him on the bed, heart hammering in my chest. I take his hands in mine and prepare to let John in, completely. I close my eyes shut tightly then open them and focus on John's face. He looks a bit apprehensive for my sake, but he doesn't stop me.

"John," I begin. "All I could have given you on our first Valentine's Day you already have. You must know that." I start to panic, I don't know how, I've never done this before, so I do the only thing I can think of. I raise our joined hands to my chest and flatten John's hands over my heart. He must be able to feel it hammering away under my ribcage. "I am yours. The heart you feel is yours, you have all the power in the world over it it beats and stops by your command, you could squeeze and feel it shatter in your palms but you won't, not my John. If you left I would die, there would be no purpose to anything." By now I am choked up but I press on. I move his hands to my hips where he holds the delicate bones between his fingers. "And you have this too, this body. It only desires you, any other man stopped making an impression years ago." I give a soft chuckle then sober for the most important part. I close my eyes and raise his hands to my head. His fingers twine through my curls and the heels of his palms rest right over my temples, one of them pressing the rose's soft petals into my skull. "And this, do you know the sheer amount of ways you could harm me by this? Infinite. You're in my head, you're everywhere. You stand beside me while I walk through my rooms, I go to you for safety and solace, you have infiltrated my entire mind. It is yours too, all of it. This is what makes me different for better or for worse and John," I pause and swallow. "John, all I have to give you is the entirety of myself, I suppose you could call it a soul. And forgive me if it isn't enough because it's all I have to give you."

I open my eyes to see John's face wet and his lips trembling in a smile. His thumbs brush my temples and he says in a shaky voice, "Sherlock, you just offered me your soul and heart on a gold platter and trusted me not to hurt you and I bought you bloody red roses and bloody Chinese. Your speech was lovely, divine, incandescent, straight out of a romance novel or bloody romcom. It is I who feels in awe of you. Oh Sherlock, you're gorgeous. You're gorgeous all over, inside and out." He kisses me and it's a bit wet and slimy with our tears. "I love you. I don't have the words you do but if I did you would have them. You'll never feel wanting again I worship you. You gave me everything I had since I got shot, you know. Of course I'll keep you safe. I could never hurt you." He urges me on my back and arranges himself over me. He fans the back of his fingers over my face and I look at him, trusting he knows, now. "You'll always be safe with me, Sherlock," he whispers. "I love you, God I love you."

I lean up to kiss him and he settles over me and I feel safe and happy, covered in John. I don't remember ever feeling so happy. Soon we are rolling our hips into each other and when it ends it feels like I'm shattered into a million pieces. John cleans us then rolls me on my side and gathers me in his arms. "Happy Valentine's Day Sherlock. I love you," he whispers in my ear. "Love you too," I rumble, safely curled against my John.


End file.
